


Stay With Me

by deanxjo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, chestervelle - Freeform, dean x jo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanxjo/pseuds/deanxjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything rests on one decision. Dean just hopes he can make the right one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking

Dean was tired and weary when he pulled up in front of the long since abandoned warehouse, the low rumble of the impala coming to a halt as he pulled the key from the ignition. He sighed to himself as he drew the opening of his flask to his mouth, taking a long pull before closing it and tucking it securely in the inside pocket of his jacket. He exited the vehicle, mentally preparing himself for a fight that was to ensue shortly thereafter. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this alone, that he should have brought Sam along. He also knew he certainly wasn’t ready to return to battle, not after what had happened just a few weeks prior.

Not yet a month ago, he had lost someone dear to him, before he ever had the chance to tell her how he felt about her, to let her know she was special to him in ways he couldn’t describe. It was almost like she was family to him, but more than that, like they had a secret bond that he just couldn’t put into words. Almost like they were soul… no. He didn’t believe in that kind of thing. Destiny was a load of crap and he knew it, but he couldn’t help but wonder how someone could so perfectly fit into his life and understand him on such a deep level without exchanging more than small talk. With a few kind gestures and facial expressions, she gave him comfort and counseling beyond comprehension. She was the reason he returned to the roadhouse so often, no matter how inconvenient. Knowing she would be right there every time he visited was a comforting thought.

Had he known how it was to end, he would’ve presented his feelings, let her see just how much he cared about her.

_“She could’ve been the one, you know,” Sam suggested rather curtly for Dean’s liking one day as they were headed to their next stop. They both knew exactly who he was talking about. “If you weren’t so afraid to let someone in.”_

_“It’s not that I’m afraid, Sam, it’s just… people I care about always get hurt because of me, or worse. I can’t- why am I even telling you any of this? It’s none of your damn business.”_

_“But you know I’m right. And Jo wouldn’t want you to-“_

_“Don’t talk about her like that. You don’t know what the hell she wanted.”_

_After that, the car was completely silent for the rest of the drive, neither of them uttering a single word because nothing more needed to be said. Dean was breaking and he wouldn’t let anyone help him. He wouldn’t let anyone save him._


	2. Jo

Dean entered through the weathered door, the rusted hinge groaning as he pushed it open, surprised it didn’t collapse. He had his knife drawn, pure adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stepped onto the concrete floor littered with cracks and gaping holes. He was hunting a jinni, thinking it would be a relatively easy kill, considering he knew how their magic worked and how they operated. He pulled out his flashlight, turning it on and waiting a moment for a delayed beam of light to flicker out into the darkness, unsteadily casting his shadow onto the wall across from him. At a quick glance, he could see water stains adorning the walls and a continuous drip of an unknown substance from the ceiling. The roof was in desperate need of repair, as you could see parts of the night sky through it, and he couldn’t help but think how with a little work, the place would make a fine establishment for just about anything.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed another shadow accompanying his on the wall across from him. He waited until the figure was closer to him to turn around and strike, keeping a tight grip on the silver dagger in his hand. Once he could feel its presence, its stale breath on the back of his neck, he turned and swung, cutting deep into the creature’s face, though it served little purpose other than to slow it down for a moment. Before Dean had the chance to make his next move, the jinni had him pressed against a nearby table, its hand glowing a bright, rich cobalt, a beautiful color, Dean thought to himself as he struggled to abscond its iron grip. His eyes started to roll into the back of his head, the all too familiar feeling of losing control wrapping tight around him and suffocating him. His vision went black around the edges and he felt as though his blood had turned to lead. It felt like an eternal, inescapable agony before it all ended and he could see, hear, feel, _nothing._ Without anything tangible to hold onto, fear crept into his mind as he tried to escape the walls around him that he knew were only an illusion, but he had to get past it. He continued to bang on the surrounding darkness out of frustration and worry, a thought in the back of his mind telling him that maybe he would be here forever. A cold chill ran down his spine but he continued despite it, if he could just get out then everything would be okay. The dark shattered at his final blow before he felt something soft around him. Something was _there._

He noticed he was lying on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. He sat up a bit, kicking at the sheets over him in an attempt to figure out where he was and what he was doing there.

Next to him, something stirred.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing? It’s like 2am.”

He knew that voice. He’d heard it before, not too long ago. No, it wasn’t long at all since that same voice had told him to go, that she would save him, die for him.

“Jo?”


	3. Where Am I?

“Jo?” He tested her name on his tongue, his voice cracking as he said it.

“Dean, are you okay?”

“I- I don’t know. I just… How?” He stammered, trying to find the right thing to say, but at the moment he was at a loss for words, awestruck, finding himself thoroughly distracted by her radiance. She was like a light that shone bright at the end of the dark tunnel he’d been travelling through. Like he had his head underwater and he could finally breathe again.

“Yeah, I don’t know how you got a girl like me either,” she began, derision laced in her words. “But-“

“No, I mean, how are you even alive? Jo, I watched you die,” he said, voice weak as he said it. He didn’t want to believe it, but something about saying it aloud made it seem all too real.

“Dean, did you have a nightmare again? Come here,” she said, gesturing for him to move closer.

He did as he was told, scooting across the cotton sheets as she also gravitated towards him. He stopped breathing as she came closer, her small arms wrapping around him in a manner that left him without a thought in his mind. He couldn’t believe he was here, with Jo, quite possibly who he was supposed to spend the rest of his life, which would no doubt be short given his occupation, with. He wanted to be the one to make sure she was safe, secure, comforted, but all the while she did that for him. He decided that was the irony of it all, why they got along seamlessly despite the fact that it seemed as though they quarreled about every little thing; but it was their way of showing just how much they cared.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m here and I’m not leaving you, not ever, you hear?”

He nodded slowly, staring down at her. Her blonde curls bounced as she moved, her face slightly flushed, eyes bright and young and wild, so full of love and hope and ambition. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and though he tried to suppress them, one escaped and trailed down his cheek, falling to land somewhere amongst them.

“You’re crying.” She stated, a worried look on her face.

“I- I’m just glad you’re here, Jo,” he said, crushing her into a tight hug that might have snapped her in two had he not loosened his grasp at the time he did.

He leaned back slightly, looking her up and down, seeing none of her hunting scars or gashes from where the hellhounds bit into her flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he said suddenly.

She blushed and looked down. She never was one to accept compliments.

She put her hand on his cheek and he leaned into the touch, a sense of relief and ease overcoming him.

She released him far too soon for his liking, saying, “Okay, are you feeling better? You should probably go back to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Uh, what was tomorrow, again?” He asked innocently as his hand rubbed at the back of his neck.

“We have to drive all the way to Sam’s? For Christmas?”

“Oh, yeah, Christmas, right,” he said, pretending he knew what she was talking about. At least he wouldn’t have to ask what time of year it was.

“Get some rest, maybe you’ll feel better in the morning,” she said, a skeptical look crossing her features for only a second before she gently pushed him back so he lay down. She pulled the blankets over them again and rested her head on his chest, his arm instinctively wrapping around her waist.

She soon fell asleep in his arms, though he didn’t. He had so many unanswered questions flying around in his head. _How did he get here? What was he doing here? Why was he with Jo and not some random chick from an ad like the last time? Would he be stuck here forever? Is this even a dream?_

He pondered these things until the early hours of the morning until he was pulled into a peaceful, desperately needed sleep when he realized how much she meant to him. This was where he truly belonged, he thought before unconsciousness overtook him. _This was how it should have been._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these last few chapters have been so short, I'm just laying out the ground work. The next few should be longer, hopefully!


	4. Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter serves mostly to better describe the emotional/mental state of Dean towards the beginning. The plot itself does not progress much at all.

Dean had given into the serenity of it all, figuring it was nothing more than another alcohol-induced hallucination and he would wake up in the morning, hung over as ever, and most everything would be back to normal. Well, not necessarily _normal,_ but more like usual… typical… Yes, that was a much better way of describing it, he thought quietly to himself.

But when classic rock blasted from a radio on a nightstand in a room that wasn’t his own, he was confused before he realized that he was still there. Jo was still curled up against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around her sleeping form. He looked down at her and couldn’t help but marvel at her features. She looked so peaceful in her sleep, her porcelain skin almost glowing in the low light, her long, delicate lashes placed perfectly across her eyelids, her smooth pink lips complementing her complexion, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, Dean taking them all in one by one.

_It wouldn’t be a curse, he thought, to wake up like this each morning._

But the moment was over as soon as it had started as Jo started to stir, reaching over him and turning off the alarm Dean had forgotten about.

“Morning,” she muttered as she ran a hand through her hair and yawned, Dean smiling at the small movements. It wasn’t so much that he was particularly pleased at anything she did, rather, it was based upon the fact that he never thought he would be given the opportunity see any of it again. It’s a strange yet interesting concept how the most beautiful things, the most desired things in life, can either be gone in an instant or cannot be attained.

_But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy it, he thought, or long for it. After all, it’s part of being human._

It had been a quick escape, to turn to alcohol or even in a dream brought on by a jinni, rather than facing the truth that Jo was gone and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He had felt so useless, for so many nights he had found himself without purpose, the horrific events of that day playing over and over in his mind as he tried to sleep, soon finding he was unable to without the aid of alcohol. Had he ran faster, had he shot that damn hellhound, had he put his foot down all those years ago when she had only just started hunting, she’d be alive. Because of him, she was dead after all, so why shouldn’t he suffer? Why did he deserve to move on when she couldn’t? When she died because of some goddamn schoolgirl crush she had on him. He loathed himself; he was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He wanted to be dead, gone, nonexistent, he wanted her to be alive, go to school, get a job, settle down and have the life he never could because he’d been ruined at such a young age… But weren’t they all? Jo was already ruined when her father never came home from that hunt… His father’s fault but he still blamed himself because he should’ve _known._ Typical John Winchester behavior, as it was, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to see that it wasn’t his own wrongdoing, it was all chance and fate and no… destiny did not exist, and he chastised himself for even trying to think that possibly, somewhere, something was keeping things in order, because he knew that it couldn’t exist. He’d seen too many innocent people die, too much blood on his own hands to believe this was all for a greater purpose. No, it was a world full of trials and tribulation and death and demise and he knew he would most certainly die at the end of a gun or a blade, the only question being _when._

“Come on,” Jo said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and jumping off. “We have to get going. My mom and Bobby are already there, I’m sure of it. We’ll be dead if we’re late.”

Dean was confused before he remembered the events of the night before.

Christmas at Sam’s.

Jo’s hips swayed rhythmically as she walked, not necessarily in a seductive manner but more so, one that gave off a gentle aura of ease. He found himself mesmerized by her, letting her occupy all his thoughts until all he could call to memory was the swift movements of her body, the fluid motions that sent him into an awestruck state he’d never experienced before. He watched as she stepped out of the room, her gate calm and sinuous, the soft tap of her bare feet echoing through the halls as she made her way down the staircase.

How had he been so oblivious for so long to her simple elegance, her effortless grace?

He was snapped out of his daze when she placed a steaming mug on the nightstand next to him. The rich smell of coffee wafted through the air as he reached for his cup, the steam rising from it and diffusing into the air. He stared down into the dark liquid, absent mindedly watching as the small bubbles of air stuck to the sides. It was strangely calming to focus on something that wasn’t how he got there and how he was going to get back to where he came from. If he even _wanted_ to go back to a world full of pain and sorrow, testing him in ways unimaginable, the feelings of guilt, physical and emotional trauma, the constant battle between good and evil that became increasingly difficult to resist and the most troubling question of all: _why him?_

Why the hell would he want to go back?

But he knew Sam needed him. He couldn’t let him face it all alone. He couldn’t just abandon his brother when the fight had only just begun.

But for now he needed a little time. Just a little break from the life. He deserved that much, at least, for all he’d done.

_But there’s no quota. You never have to stop doing good. You can’t reach a limit…_

No, for guys like him, that was their job. That was their _life_.


End file.
